Potential and Possibilities
by civilizedrevolutionary
Summary: In which Javert arrives at the Toulon bagne, and meets Jean Valjean for the first time. (One-shot)


His steps were brisk, sharp, and steady. They indicated the presence of a man of great importance and stature, and as he neared, the people in the vicinity grew aware and stopped in their occupations to take a look at this new figure of authority.

The man was young, in his mid to late twenties. His bushy sideburns sloped down his sharp cheeks like a hawk's wings, and his eyebrows almost completely overshadowed his eyes, which were cool and grey. His features seemed always slightly disguised by the shadow of his hat, aided by the tilt of his head he was prone to when he was thinking.

This man entered the Toulon Bagne on January the seventh, 1806, as a prison guard. He was cool and stoic, and none dared ask from whence he came. Only a few, who were behind bars in the cells, recognized him. These jeered at him and called from their cells, "Would you look at that! It's Marguerite's brat!"

"Here to tell us our fortunes, good sir?"

"Too good to be on this side of the cell, eh? Didn't your mother ever teach you to be humble?"

"How's the old Papa, eh, petit Javert? Will you follow his footsteps and his friends to the galleys?"

They taunted him as he passed, yet he showed no indication of hearing. When he reached the end of the row of cells, he stopped in front of the prison guard on duty, giving him a curt nod as he relieved the guard of his post.

Day by day his presence grew to be one to be wary of. Where the other guards might have been cordial or even friendly to the prisoners, Javert soon brought about the example discouraging this.

A curl of the lip, a tilt of the head, the furrowing of his brow, these were the signals he used to communicate. In fact, he hardly ever spoke. Yet his mere presence alone was enough to scare the prisoners into being silent, which delighted his superiors. They gave him the toughest of the batch to watch, the worst of the worst. The vagabonds, vagrants, and good-for-nothings. These faces were all the same to Javert, yet he knew every single one. Never did a face catch his eye that he did not remember for the next twenty years.

One day, a prisoner crossed his path.

He was held between two guards, and weighed down with heavy chains, showing he was considered dangerous. Javert looked at him coolly. This man was no different from the rest; ragged, vicious, and crude. From the shorn hair to his tanned face and bulging muscles, he was just another prisoner. Yet there was something in his eyes telling Javert there was something different about him. Something familiar that tied them together, making them one and the same. What could it be?

Potential.

"What's this?" Javert asked, barely taking another look at the man. One of the guards shoved the prisoner forward a bit.

"Escaped again, Monsieur. Another three years to his sentence. Number 24601." He grinned, showing yellow and chipped teeth. "Quite the fighter. Not the brightest either. You could have gotten out in a year or two if you'd just waited!" He said to the prisoner.

The two guards burst into laughter as they continued on their way to take 24601 to his cell. Javert slowly turned to watch them go. Just before they turned the corner, he saw the prisoner turn his head to look at Javert again, his eyes full of weary defeat.

Javert settled himself into his usual position, standing rigid and erect between the last two cells. One who passed him by would not have recognized anything unusual about his behavior, but one familiar with his habits could see that he was unsatisfied.

Indeed, his thoughts more than once turned to that prisoner he had just passed.

All that separated the two of them was one single decision, was it not? The both of them came from destitute backgrounds, yet only one had succeeded in his long battle against life. Javert, son of a galley slave and fortune teller, born in prison, he had decided to guard his town. This 24601, he had decided to terrorize it.

What would have become of them if they had chosen different paths?


End file.
